


Choose Life

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - Trainspotting, Drug Abuse, M/M, POV First Person, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s the thing with heroin. Nothing matters but what’s at your door. There is no day after, no week, month or year ahead of you. It’s an endless blur with set goals and a set routine and no worry but what you’re going to have to steal next and when you’d be able to buy that next hit.<br/>But isn’t that the beauty of it?<br/>[You do not have to have any knowledge of the AU to understand this fic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we step foot into the world of Gavin Free as he makes a feeble escape from the law. A world of one path, one goal, one love - heroin.

_“_

_“Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?”_

**\- Trainspotting.**

**…**

We burst through the crowd of people with one thought and one thought only – getting the fuck out of there.

My breath burns my throat and lungs and I can hear Jack just behind me, shouting at me to hurry up. No panic fills me up – just pure, untampered adrenaline. I can hear my trainers slap against the concrete and the sound almost spurs me on.

I’ve never ran so fast in my entire life.

I’m not quite sure where Joel’s gone, no doubt the tosser’s took a turn and left us to deal with the security guards ourselves. I have to hold back a laugh as I watch the gear we just stole dropping out from under our shirts and onto the concrete floor, and Jack nearly slips on a copy of Halo - only just managing to outrun the grasp of one pissed-off guard. I slam round a corner of the high street, determined to outrun the bastards if it kills me. What I didn’t expect was a car pulling out of a corner.

Jack misses the bonnet by a mile. I, however, don’t.

I roll over the front of the car and watch as a security guard pursues Jack, running at a pace I’d never believed the guy could manage. Standing back up, I watch as he runs with that typical, half-there gaze on his face. I take in a breath and lean on the car, feeling my chest rising and falling heavily and when I look up into the windscreen, all I see is this terrified-looking bloke. I laugh straight at the lad at the wheel, so out of breath but _so fucking alive_. So full of purpose.

The second security guard barrels into me just a second after and knocks me straight on my arse.

Somehow, I struggle and manage to slip out of the guys hold, kicking him for good measure and we’re off again. Moving quicker than I’ve ever done before and filled with that need to escape, to sell the gear that’s left and to fund this disgusting, but rewarding, habit once more. I can hear myself wheezing, half-laughing when I hear the guard give up, muttering into his radio to hear that the other guy has lost Jack - to my amusement. No doubt Joel was already half-way to an exchange store by then, the arse.

It’s a lucky getaway, one I definitely won’t be forgetting anytime soon, but it won’t be like that forever.

But who wants to think about tomorrow?

That’s the thing with heroin. Nothing matters but what’s at your door. There is no day after, no week, month or year ahead of you. It’s an endless blur with set goals and a set routine and no worry but what you’re going to have to steal next and when you’d be able to buy that next hit.

But isn’t that the beauty of it?

   “Gavin!”

I finally find Jack a few blocks away on the same route we always go down. He’s lost every bit of gear we managed to grab on our shop-lifting escapade, but I’m no better off so I can’t mock the guy.

   “You manage to save anything?” I ask, anyway.

He shakes his head and I pretend to look pissed off for a second, but he doesn’t pay mind either way. If we didn’t have enough money for just one more hit, it would have been a different reaction altogether but for now we’ll do. Nothing’s funny when you’re in the middle of withdrawal, but neither of us are quite there yet, though Jack’s looking a little antsy.

In withdrawal, everything hurts and nothing else matters but drugs and what you can do to get them. It’s a wonderful, one-way existence - the only reason why I still bother with it all - but it’s still a pain in the arse when you need a hit and you haven’t a bit of cash to your name. We’re close to that now, but I can almost feel the notes in my back pocket waiting to be handed over for a packet of powder.

On our way to Ryan’s, more commonly referred to as Mother Superior, it isn’t a surprise to us to see Joel waiting for a taxi outside the rank we normally get our rides from. The bastards got this smug look on his face, like he’s proud he made it this far before us. He has a way of making you feel like the most insignificant thing on the planet. Crafty tosser. I don’t say a word to him as we sidled up beside Joel, intent on getting there the same time as him - no questions asked.

   “So, guys, how did it go?”

   “You know how it went, Joel. You were there the second we got caught.” Jack answered, though not a bit of venom was in his voice. He never could manage the normal, bitter state of mind like the rest of us junkies could. He was just too nice of a bloke.

Joel just laughs at us, eyeing me up for a minute and then shouts as a taxi pulls up. He ignores the other three lads who’ve no doubt been queuing way before Joel even got there, and runs into the taxi the second it pulls over. He tells the driver the address before me and Jack can say a word, and we watch as the others outside shout and follow us a few feet down the road. Joel doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

   “Don’t be doing that again. It’ll be _my_ car that gets trashed ‘cause you can’t wait five for another taxi, not yours.”

The driver’s a moody old bastard, muttering on for the entire journey about having no respect for order or respect in itself. I just wish the guy would shut up because I can feel the beginnings of withdrawal lining my stomach. If the cold sweats start up now I’m done. I’m not craving just yet but it’s in the post, that’s for sure. I take in a breath and run a hand over my shaved head, wishing the guy would just drop us off and be done with it. It feels like the world’s longest car ride, but eventually we pull over.

I don’t even ask to pay the fare and neither does Jack, though our reasons for doing so are far apart. I just want to see that smirk wiped from Joel’s face. Jack does it because he’s completely skint.

I could have done without the stairs and Joel going on about a thousand and one things in my ear, but the sight of that dirt-covered, breaking door seemed like a haven. Even if Joel was still falling into his habit of talking about a million topics of once - most of them things I couldn’t give a shit about, it was too much of a relief to spend my time berating the guy.

I was the first to knock on the door, the sound hollow in my head and I could already hear Ryan talking on the other side of the door. It sounded like some other lass was in there, but I couldn’t be sure. Saying that, Mother Superior almost always had company, as messed up as the bloke was he had a good streak on him. Sometimes it outweighed the bad. _Sometimes_ , at the very least. But most of all - he had the gear, and that was all my mind was focused on at that time. When he opened the door, all I could see was that wide grin and in seconds Ryan was ushering Joel in, me and Jack following like sheep.

To put it bluntly, the place was a shit-hole. I can’t remember ever seeing wallpaper or paint on the walls, and the few places that did have it was marked and ripped, most of them doped-up scrawls that could have been from either one of us. One of the walls is covered in green paper, and at the bottom is an oddly neat scrawl of _“Welcome to Mother Superior’s.”_ in white, gloss paint. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan hadn’t wrote the bloody thing himself.

   “You got the gear?” Joel asks, and Ryan laughs in response.

   “And when have I not?” he replies, that almost manic smile on his face.

I’m getting sick of the pleasantries by now, but I know that if I ask; it won’t speed things up. It never does. He could have the stuff mixed and ready in a syringe the minute I got there it would never seem quick enough. I traipse inside and take my usual spot in the back of the living room. There’s no chairs, just empty floorboards and the occasional rug, but by the time you’ve got what you came for you never notice anyway. The whole scene just fades out, and chemicals replace it.

Jack sits in the middle of the living room opposite a girl I’ve not seen here before. She’s miles away and she doesn’t even notice as Jack speaks to her, she just smiles and sways where she’s sat down, looking as though she might fall over any second. Surprisingly, he’s given the gear first and I think that Ryan must be in a good mood today if Jack gets first pickings.

If I was in any decent state of mind, I wouldn’t be bothered, but that’s the thing with drugs. I watch as he opens the brown paper packet up, and his eyes somehow light up at the sight of golden-brown powder. I’m so infatuated it takes me a minute to notice that Joel’s sat down beside me. I try not to let my face show my annoyance, but no doubt he’s read into it already.

Sooner than expected, Mother Superior’s hovering over myself and Joel, handing us a packet which I take whilst Joel collects the other shite we need. It seems like no time at all and the other’s taking his belt off and, for a minute, anger fills me up because it looks like the tosser’s about to shoot himself up first after all the bother me and Jack had this morning. But one look at his face and soon it’s a different story. I don’t know which to be more annoyed at. Joel has a way of getting under your skin no matter what he does, and the stare he’s got locked onto me now is sending something down my spine - something I’ve felt before but still can’t get used to. Neither of us would ever admit what passed through us each time this happened. Blame it on the drugs and keep things easy; simple.

He takes control and soon enough we’re sat facing each other, belt around my left arm while he slaps the skin at the inside of my elbow, searching for veins that probably aren’t there. I can never find them myself. He bites down on his bottom lip in concentration, and I try my best not to keep watching the action.

   “Fucking invisible veins.” he mutters, not letting up the pace and it’s taken me until now to notice that Ryan’s setting up the gear for us. Lucky day, indeed. The powder’s already settled inside an old, metal spoon, lighter underneath and using the opposite end of a match to stir the powder up. I focus on that, rather than the eyes I can feel staring at me. He does it every single time. Ryan’s still got that smirk on his face as he loads one of the syringes we brought with us up. We might be heroin addicts, but we’re not idiots. I’ve refused a hit before because of the needles and I’d do it again.

Soon enough, I have to look up and for a minute I wonder if Joel’s already had his hit. His eyes are glazed over and the look he’s giving me is so intense I don’t know what to do; so I just watch as Ryan passes Joel the needle. It’s as though time slows down for a bit then, he lifts the needle up and runs his tongue along the edge - for show or for method I’ve not quite yet decided - and Joel finally finds one of my veins with a small smile.

Everything seems so clear when the prick of a needle hits the inside of my arm, but it doesn’t last. What follows is something not even I can hope to describe. I know Joel’s watching me with that god-awful stare, but in the seconds that follow I lose every bit of care about it. I don’t give a shit that I’m sitting in some run-down apartment, surrounded by people in no capable state to live - because all there is, is heroin. When you’re on junk you have only one worry: scoring.

The rest falls into nothing.


	2. Overdrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin goes out with Joel and finds himself getting endlessly agitated at the attention he’s getting from woman. Joel does what he does best, and tries to buy his way to Gavin’s good side.

Probably the worst thing about Joel, or at the very least one of the most irritating, was his ability to wind me up no matter what the situation might be. But one of the most insufferable had to be when he finally decided he’d had enough of sitting indoors and wanted to hit the town.

It’s like he goes into overdrive. Over-fucking-drive and won’t let up until his had his energy spent or his hormones settled by some random lass who’s dumb enough to think she just might be a keeper to him. For now I hope it’s just a couple of drinks to get out of the house.

But it never really ends up that way, and it irritates me even more that he’s dragging the night out just cause there’s something flashing in his head and coursing through his blood.

I could lie and pin it on Joel’s seemingly endless need to pick up whatever lass took his fancy that particular night, I could maybe even stretch that truth slightly; and admit it was because of my own awkward nature and minuscule chances of picking up a lass myself that pissed me off.

But that wouldn’t cover it.

The fact was, I’d much rather stay at home, play video games and smoke a joint than spend my time surrounded by as many strangers as the place could hold. I fucking hated myself half of the time, never mind having the capacity to endure other people.

And yes, a very small part of me could admit – I was jealous of the bastard. But only by the means that he was able to push aside everything about a person to get what he fancied off of them, whether it be money, drugs, sex - or all three - whereas I could not.

But all it bottled down to was one, fuckin’ annoying truth: I was just jealous of the girls that ended up back at Joel’s place each night.

Because there was only so many times you could shoot up with a bloke, coming down off your high with them latched on your neck and biting slow, dizzyingly good marks into the junction of your shoulder - before something close to envy started bubbling up inside of you when you saw that directed at some other bastard.

Especially now as Joel kept his eyes on some brunette lass at the bar whilst trying to convince me to ‘loosen up’ a bit.

   “All I’m sayin’ is that you need to try and get out a bit more. There’s a lot more out there than just video games and heroin, Gavin, as much as you might not like to believe it.”

   “Yeah, like what?” I spit the words out, shouting to try and get my voice above the music it. Joel leans right into the crook of my neck and shouts back.

   “Like girls and booze.” His face breaks out into a wide smile then and he laughs.

It takes a great deal of will power and the knowledge that Joel could easily show me up if I tried, not to push him away and swear blind he’s just trying to piss me off. I can practically feel the smug bastard’s breath on my neck, which would all be well and good, but the look he’s fixing this poor lass just a few feet away is making me feel sick.

I suppose one good thing was I’d never admit to him what that even meant.

After just half an hour, Joel starts to get fidgety and I can feel his eyes dragging over the talent in the place before he’s talking right against my ear again.

   “Come on, we’re off somewhere else.”

I can’t find the energy to argue and if I’m honest I’d rather be somewhere else. There’s only so long you can stand around, half-sober and not just looking but  _feeling_  awkward as fuck in a club before the novelty wears off, regardless of Joel’s digs at me that I’ve come to learn is just how the bastard treats his friends. Plus, outside it’d give me a chance to try and coax Joel back to my flat, and if not, a chance to ditch him. I could practically feel my bed and joint waiting for me.

The night air hits me the minute we’re out the back entrance, a lot colder and wetter than I’d anticipated, and it only takes a second before Joel’s digging out a packet of cigs from the back pocket of his jeans and not bothering to offer me one. He has the audacity to watch when I sigh, a bit buggered off, and smile with that shit-eating grin he always has.

The alley leads out onto a high street, and apart from the queue of people waiting to get inside the club we just left, the place is deserted. For a minute, I reckon we’re off back to mine or making tracks cause of the street we go down, but before I can even ask, Joel’s distracting me and offering me a drag of his cig – which I take without question and don’t offer back. He doesn’t even pay any mind.

   “Where you on about going now then?” I ask, taking a drag and watching as Joel shrugs, seeming to contemplate the situation.

   “Geoff’s probably at The Hop, I was thinkin’ we’d go down there.”

I blow the smoke right out in Joel’s face and laugh but there’s not a bit of humour about it. Though I do revel in the fact that he finally looks a bit pissed off, snatching the cig back off me even if I’ve nearly finished.

   “Oh yeah, we’ll just go hang about with Geoff and risk getting glassed...”

Joel shrugs, and I reckon the bastards either being really stubborn or really fucking stupid.

The thing about Geoff is he makes it out as though he’s a decent bloke, but I’ve never met a bigger fucking psycho in my life. He wouldn’t do anythin’ to properly hurt  _us_  like, we’ve known him too long, but he wouldn’t say no to giving you a black eye or attempting to break something if you’ve rubbed him up the wrong way.

There’s many different walks of life if you’re exposed to the people I am. The way heroin fuels myself and Joel, the way Ray’s is about his gamer score and Courtney or how Ryan doesn’t seem to want to rest until half of England’s on drugs. But Geoff…he had a different streak in him.

Geoff didn’t play games or do drugs - he just did people. That’s what he got off on.

   “He’s not that bad, Gavin.” Joel insists, taking out another cigarette and slowing his pace just as we start heading down a half-lit subway that seems to be ninety-percent rubbish and puddles rather than concrete.

Talk about moonlit walks.

Soon enough though he stops, taking out a lighter and breathing in deeply and once again I think the bastards going to keep me hanging. The smoke drifts back down the way we came, and I turn to him as he puts the cigarette in my mouth, thumb grazing my bottom lip just for a second.

In an instant I can already feel myself getting annoyed, but for a second it stops when he leans in close, lighting another cigarette from my own. He does it without even looking, staring right into me with that glazed-over look that I’ve seen a thousand times but can’t ever get my head around. And as soon as the heat of him’s there, it’s gone again, and I really am pissed off. But once again, I can’t bring myself to show it.

Why should I?

As we exit the subway, I finally bring up what I’d been meaning to ask since we left that god-awful club.

   “Do you honestly wanna go and hang around with Geoff for the rest of the night? He’s even worse when he’s had a few bevs and with the mood you're in, you’re gunna get lamped.”

Joel shrugs, completely disregarding my insult, and as I watch him his eyes seem to gaze off for a minute. When I catch his line of sight, the annoyance that had been bubbling up since he dragged me out of the flat comes back full force. Two lasses are stood just outside a second-rate casino and staring at their phones. They’re either lost or waiting on a taxi and I don’t even have to think twice before I know what Joel’s game is.

Without even a discussion or word for me, he's making his way across the road and over to the two girls. Almost instantly I can feel them eyeing us both up, though their looks stay put on Joel after a while, and when he starts speaking I could have walked off then and there.

   “Are you two girls alright…you look a little lost?” his voice is tentative and polite. Completely unlike the utter wanker he can be by default, but like most women do they fall straight for it, smiling and looking to each other.

   “We’re actually on our way to a bar to meet some old friends but…yeah. Yeah, we’re a little lost.”

Joel looks to me for a second but I refuse to grace him by making conversation, I’m running out of patience and energy and not to mention it looks like it's going to piss it down any second.

   “Ah, right. You not from here then?”

   “No, we’re both from London.”

Joel’s face instantly breaks into a smile.

   “And what bar are you looking for?”

The girl pauses for a second and looks at her phone. I can see her friend eyeing me up but I probably couldn’t have looked more disinterested if I’d have flipped her off. All I can think about is getting home and by now, I couldn’t care less if Joel came with me or not, I just wish he’d stop talking so I could bugger off.

   “It’s the…Coburg?”

And that seals it for me before I can even make tracks. The Hop’s just down the road from the more trendy place the girls’ are looking for, and there’s no way I’m risking seeing Geoff at this time – no doubt he’s arseholed and asking for a fight by now.

   “I’m just about to make my way down to a pub near there, if you want me to show you two girls the way?”

The lasses hesitate, but a warm smile from Joel is all it takes for them to grin and nod, thanking him for his hospitality and all that shite. He looks back to me then and raises an eyebrow with a smirk and I try not to clench my jaw, instead I opt for something I know annoys him – smiling widely and tilting my head a little to the side.

   “You coming, Gav?” he asks regardless, though he’s tensed up a little.

   “I’ll pass, mate. Think I’m gunna go home,” His gaze seems to fall a little then, but for what reason I have no clue.

   “I’ll leave you to it.” I add, seeing him square up to me a little but as big of a tosser Joel can be, he’s never really been hostile towards me. A few drunken punches before, maybe, not nothing out of spite or proper anger.

I back up and start walking the opposite way, raising my hand as a final goodbye but I don’t get past five steps before he’s calling me back. And for a minute my stomach jolts a bit, though the childish hope is crushed as he catches up.

I turn sideways a little, and watch as he hands me a lit cigarette with no words, eyes flickering over my face before he turns away and heads off with the two lasses, chattering away about god-knows what shite. And no doubt they’ll pretend to be interested, but never really caring. Not like I might. The only time I'd ever ignore him rattling on was when I was getting withdrawal.

I play with the smoke in my hand a little before pressing it to my lips and picking up pace, heading straight home.

It always seems to be currency with Joel. If he pisses me off or winds me up too much it’s a free hit, his round of bevs or a pack of cigs left on my bed from when he’s stayed the night before, and it’s never accidental.

My head stays in overdrive for the rest of the night, pissed off to no end about another night with Joel gone sour, and no doubt Joel’ll spend his own in an overdriven search for self-gratification to cover up the bitterness too.

Still, it won’t stop me from opening my door up to him in a couple of hours - even if he lives two roads closer to home.


	3. Job Well Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin wakes up and finds that Joel’s stayed the night for the first time, and Jack goes to an interview that he reckons has gone far too well after a lick of white powder.

There’s very many a thing I’m used to waking up to these days.

I’m used to waking up in a complete stranger’s flat. I’m used to waking up back at Ryan’s with a belt tight on my arm and nothing in my senses but pleasure. I’ve even been known to wake up on the streets with Jack sat next to me after a night gone funny, specifically with memories of Geoff in mind. And yet ordinarily I’d wake up in my flat, in my bed, by myself, the sheets cold. Simple as that.

Today, however, that was not the case.

It wasn’t exactly as though I woke up with Joel in my bed and gazing back at me with that odd, analysing stare that I knew far too well. But he’d definitely been slept there and at the sound of someone shuffling through the flat, my confusion worsened. Joel _never_ stayed the night. Not in a million fucking years would he stop the night with me, even as a mate, which these days it often wasn’t, and that night had been one of those rare ones in which Joel didn’t seem to mind male company.

The logic in it was backwards, but in a way I’d pretty much assumed Joel had been wired up like that for a long time.

It takes a while to come to, last night had been freezing and venturing outside the sheets seems impossible. There’s a hollow place in my stomach where the beer had eventually gone and it’s been almost a day since my last hit, and something’s not quite ticking over in my system. I let out a deep breath and try to ignore the fact that I’ve no gear knocking about in the flat, and that this means a trip to Ryan’s before I get too sick. I don’t even think I’ve got any money, which pisses me off even more. But still, I can hear Joel moving around just past my door, and it gives me enough focus to slip my jeans on roughly, feeling a slight burn down my lower back which isn’t entirely unpleasant somehow.

When I open the door, it doesn’t take me long to notice that it doesn’t look like Joel’s thinking of moving any time soon. His jeans are undone and hanging over his waist while he wears his shirt from the night before, sprawled on the couch like he lives here which, let’s face it, he might as well. And surprisingly, it takes me longer to notice there’s a bag of gear on the coffee table, so long that Joel had to point it out as I sit down in an armchair opposite.

   “Visited Ryan before I came here last night.” He states, staring up at the ceiling.

   “Yeah?”

   “Told me that if I recommended his gear to some guys I know he’d knock me a bit off my next stash. There’s a couple of guys going to Matt for their stuff now, y’know?” He states, matter of factly.

   “Matt’s gear is shite.” I scoff. And it’s true. His drugs are about as clean and safe as a used needle. I only ever go to Matt if I’m properly skint and properly withdrawn.

   “That’s what I said to him, but Matt’s rates are a lot cheaper.”

   “That’s alright if you want to kill yourself with one hit.”

I can see Joel holding back a laugh as he sits up, leaning over and grabbing the clear plastic bag from the coffee table. A spike of need runs through me at the sight of it and I sit back, probably a little too harsh because before I know it, Joel’s smirking up at me.

   “Don’t worry, Gav. I’m sharing.”

I raise an eyebrow at that, but there’s nothing deceiving or taunting in his eyes for now. I’m still half uncomfortable at the idea he’s stayed with me over night but I choose to ignore my suspicion and head back over to him, grabbing the loose end of his belt and tugging.

   “You can’t be that bad already.” He mumbles, shifting so I can take the belt and start tightening it around my arm.

   “I’m not, but I’ve an interview later.”

Joel really does laugh then and stares at me, trying to weigh my actions up.

   “For a job?”

   “Well what else would it be for?”

   “Since when did you want a job.”

   “I don’t.” I muttered between sorting the gear out. “But if I don’t go for an interview they’re cutting my dole money off.”

   “Thought that was too unlike you.”

   “You’re a proper arrogant bastard sometimes, aren’t you?” I snap, sick of hearing him take digs at me already. He doesn’t apologize, not like I’d have expected him to, instead he just takes my arm while I try not to let it show how my muscles melt under his grip. But he knows. He always fucking knows.

   “You wouldn’t live without me though, would you? Bastard or not.” He replies cockily.

I don’t reply. I just let him shoot me up. Let him stare and watch as I go limp and my eyes roll back in pleasure. Because the god-awful, annoying truth was just as he said.

I really couldn’t live without the bastard.

…

   “I dunno, Gavin. I’m just really nervous, you know? I’m fine right up until they start questioning me and then I go shy. They’ll think I’m trying to avoid the job on purpose.” Jack explains, fiddling his thumbs and scratching at the calluses on his fingers.

   “You just need to fake it.” I state, more than an expert on how to both storm through a job interview with all good spirits - but also _not_ get the place. “Just act confident and energetic about the whole thing and let your background fuck you over.” But still he shakes his head, frowning and running a hand over his beard.

   “I can’t do it. I’ve never been good at interviews. They’re going to stop my workers allowance after this, I know they are.”

I pause for a second, leaning back on the chair in the small diner were in and look around. I knew this would happen, always does with Jack. And though I’m not entirely close to him, he’s got a heart of gold. I’d be lifeless if I didn’t feel a little sympathetic to him. The place is practically empty and the lass behind the counter is far too engrossed in a magazine to care what we’re doing. Gently, I pull a small paper packet out of my rented (which incidentally cost me two days gear, might I add) suit pocket and pop it on the table. Jack furrows his brow for a second before opening it up. He chuckles a little bit when he sees the small bit of white powder.

   “Speed.” I confirm. “Ryan gave us a bit to try. Not my thing, like, but it’ll perk you up for your interview. Give you some confidence, yeah?”

Jack shakes his head, but it’s almost fond. He pops his ring finger into his mouth and wets it, dipping it into the powder a little more liberally than I’d have done, before sucking the powder back off.

   “I think that might be just the ticket, Gav.”

I smile a little. “Alright, I’m going to get going. Meet you back here at two, yeah?”

He nods and I head out of the dingy little diner and out onto yet another escapade to keep me out of work, and on the skag.

…

**Gavin’s interview. 11:46am.**

   “So, Mr. Free…It says on your application that you attended Durham University?”

The bloke who’s interviewing me is a complete arsehole, I’ve already deduced. His smile is so tight and strained that I reckon his lips might split in half if he carries on with the pretense that he’s fond of me. Infact, the whole panel look exactly the same. Stuck-up, arrogant and everything I could possible hate. I clear my throat, shifting the glasses I don’t even bloody need on my nose, and try to even out my accent as I talk.

   “Yes, indeed I did, Sir. Some of the best years in my life inside those walls.” I have to bite the inside of my cheek as the panel stares back, trying to decide whether I’m being truthful or a sarcastic bugger. Eventually, the bloke in the middle smiles jerkily, and laughs a little.

   “Why, that is a coincidence. I happened to attend there myself. Many years ago now, mind.“

 _Bollocks_.

   “Is Professor Forrestor still working there? I imagine he would be. Wonderful man.”

   “Uhm…I believe he was, yes-“

   “He was the Professor of Bu-“

I try to cut him off, but I’ve no fucking clue about what I’m saying.

   “Bu-?”

   “Business-“

   “ _Business_ , business. Yes, I remember him.” I quickly reply. He doesn’t look convinced, but it’s enough.

The interview plods on after that. I’m by no means exthuseastic about what they ask me, but I’m not completely disinterested either. The idea is to stay neutral. Make sure you’re not a complete waste of time, but nothing spectacular either. No way do I want a job in a bloody leisure centre. I’d rather piss my life into drugs rather than piss it into something I hate for the rest of my life, but unfortunately, the interview seems to be going far too smoothly.

Soon enough though, that changes. The lead interviewer coughs, shuffling through his papers casually and opening his mouth for a moment before actually speaking.

   “Mr. Free. Before we call the interview to a close, I’d like to ask about your previous employment. You appear to have some rather large gaps in your working history, could you explain?”

   “Of course.” I reply politely. “You see, I’ve been battling a serious addiction to heroin throughout my lifetime, and have been in no fit state to work fulltime for a number of years.”

I can practically feel the tension rise within the room, and the three interviewers share glances. All I do is smile, feeling that I’ve ended it on the perfect note.

   “I…appreciate your honest, Mr. Free. We’ll, uh, get in touch soon.” He answers, plastering a smile onto his face before I leave.

I don’t think it could have gone any better.

…

**Jack’s interview. 12:17pm.**

   “No! _No_ …I didn’t go to University. I went to college though. College in Manchester. It was alright but the area was a bit of a mess and I spent most of my time out with my friends but apart from that it was alright, yeah.”

Jack’s leg bounces up and down and his eyes seem to be on everything at once. The interviewer looks up and furrows his brow, but thankfully he can’t see just how blown the man’s eyes are.

   “Pardon me, Mr. Pattillo, but it says here on your application that you attended _Cambridge_ , of all places.”

Jack shakes his head, far too quickly and he goes dizzy for a second, but his smile seems to cover up any sign of vertigo from his system.

   “I put that down, yeah. I apologize for that but, it was just to get my foot in the door, you know? I mean…there’s a lot of discrimination around these days. What does it matter what qualifications I have, it doesn’t matter if you learn something from your family, at a college or from a Professor, I mean, we’re all in the same boat. You know what I mean?” Jack’s words a mutter of noises, clear but far too fast and his almost dazed state is starting to look suspicious, even to the dumbest of people. The interviewers eyes widen a little as he takes in a breath, shaking his head.

   “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. You were _referred_ here, you didn’t need to ‘get your foot in the door’, as you put.”

That seems to stump Jack for a while and he gazes, mouth slack, until his brain kicks into a rush of thoughts again and he speaks before he even realises what he’s doing.

   “Yeah, yeah, but I mean, you’d have just judged me, right? You’d have put me down as a no straight away, and-“ Jack suddenly remembers how Gavin told him to be confident. “-and I really want this job. Really do. I reckon I’d be suited for it.” He spews out, leg jumping erratically and the interviewer decides to drop the topic of education.

   “And how, _exactly_ , do you think you will be suited for this job, Mr. Pattillo? What brings you to the leisure industry?”

Jack really does look baffled then, taking in a breath and running a jittery hand over his hair for a second.

   “Oh!” He blurts. “Well you see…I mean, I like pleasure, I mean not in a weird way or anything like that but my pleasure, is other people’s leisure. It’s just up my street is the job, I’m telling you.”

The three interviewers share another, incredulous stare and the woman of the group has to stifle a disgusted scoff as she next speaks.

   “Would you…say you have any weaknesses, Mr. Pattillo?”

Jack stops his movements, biting his lip and staring around the room as he speaks. Eventually he shakes his head enthusiastically. But then Gavin’s voice is in his head again. He has to let something natural get in the way. A natural nature…

   “Oh, no wait!” He speaks up, cutting off the next question about to fall from the woman’s lips. “I mean, a bit of a perfectionist. I can’t stand if something’s not completely right. If someone isn’t happy, I won’t be happy, and I’ll probably give up on the whole thing and start again.”

He finishes and smiles widely, and in his heart Jack honestly worries that he’s going to get the job on the spot. Everything seems to have gone fantastic. His heart is racing, mind pulsing and blood rushing and it seems as though any obstacle could come in front of him and be overcome.

   “Thank you very much, Mr. Pattillo.” The interview practically snarls. “We’ll get in touch.”

   “Yeah, sure. It’ll be nice to see you again, I can’t wait to hear back.”

In a rush of movement, Jack races up to their desk and shakes each of their hand. And luckily, in his quickened movements none of them catches his blown-up eyes and shaking nerves.

 _Job well done, Jack,_ he congratulates himself.

…

Jack’s still a jittering mess when I see him at just past two, and I’m surprised he hadn’t been busted during his interview. His eyes are a black mass and his movements are so energetic and skittish it’s hard to keep my eyes on him without feeling motion sickness.

   “How’d it go then?” He asks with a grin.

   “Fine.” I answer confidently. “Don’t think I’ll be hearing back from them, so it looks like the benefits will still come in. How about you?”

Jack pauses for a moment before answering.

   “I think the interview went quite well. Maybe too well. I was really on the ball.”

I nod and give a tight smile, trying not to look too taken aback by his blown pupils and jerking movements and trying not to laugh at how enthusiastic he looks.

Yeah, I fucking bet  you did well, Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to reblog or like this fic on tumblr:
> 
> http://teaandotherstuff.tumblr.com/tagged/choose-life-trainspotting-au


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